


Catharsis

by kelstiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Catharsis, Cinnamon Roll Jack, Depression, Gen, Grief, Grieving Dean, M/M, NaNoWriMo 2017, Sam's not really in it a lot either, allusions to suicidal thoughts, happy-ish ending, mary's not actually in it she's just talked about, this can also be read as general if you don't like romantic deancas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 10:31:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelstiel/pseuds/kelstiel
Summary: Catharsis, Mia had told him, was about getting to say everything he didn’t get a chance to before they died. What the fuck did Dean want to say?In which Dean writes letters to Cas and Mary, but catharsis isn't quite what he expected.





	Catharsis

**Author's Note:**

> Written during NaNoWriMo 2017 as part of my one-shots collection. This is Day #3's one-shot, but Day #1 and #2 still need editing before I'll post them. 
> 
> Please remember to leave kudos if you liked it, and comments will help fuel my NaNoWriMo drive! I'm determined to finish it this year!

  


>   
>  _Dear Cas,_
> 
> _I don’t know why I’m doing this, it’s stupid._

 

Dean’s pen stilled. He took a swig of his beer, ripped the page from the notebook and crumpled it. He sent it flying to the waste basket on the other side of the room, where it joined a dozen others. 

Catharsis, Mia had told him, was about getting to say everything he didn’t get a chance to before they died. What the fuck did Dean want to say? He growled and set the pen to paper again.

>   
>  _Mom,_
> 
> _It was cool how you punched Lucifer in the face, repeatedly. But also you’re kind of an idiot for doing so._  
> 

The page ripped as Dean’s pen aggressively scratched out that last sentence. Probably wouldn’t do him any good to insult her memory, even if he was right. He sighed and pulled the damaged page out and it too joined its comrades in the basket. Dean took another long pull from his beer. Why was he even doing this? It’s not like either of them would ever get to read it. They were gone for good this time, Dean believed that with his whole being. He had to. He couldn’t let himself hope, because hope leads to disappointment.  
He took in a deep breath, and once again began to write.

>   
>  _Cas, you’re an idiot. You’re too trusting and it got you killed, again. Why can’t you just see that you’re already good enough just the way you are. You said you wanted a win for us, but the real win for me would have been just having you back here, at the bunker, instead of constantly putting yourself in danger to fix the world. It’s broken, Cas, just get over it. Your real family is here, and we love you too damn it. I love you too._  
> 

Dean stared at what he just wrote, as if only just now understanding the words. His chair fell over as he abruptly stood, the paper coming out of the book with him. He tore it in half, and then in half again. And again, and again, and again until it was essentially confetti. The pieces fell all around his desk and onto the floor. He reached for his beer, but the bottle was frustratingly empty. Dean only registered that he threw it when the sound of shattering glass reached his ears.

It was a good thing Sam had taken Jack out to shop for some clothes, because Dean was pretty sure Sam would try to sit him down and talk through it and “stop repressing your feelings Dean it’s okay to grieve.” 

Bull shit. 

He stumbled through the hallways until he found the kitchen. He opened the fridge for beer but the moment he laid eyes on the pathetic, lone bottle in the case, he changed his mind. He stumbles to the library instead and pulls a bottle of whisky from behind section 12C of the Men of Letters journals.  
He’s on his third double when he grabs the closest pencil and a stray napkin from their last take-out meal.

>   
>  _Mom,  
>  Sam thinks you’re not dead. I really want him to be right, but I can’t let myself believe it. If he is right though, and you are still alive… you better kick Lucifer’s ass straight into oblivion. Screw Hell, he knows how to get out. And then you better get your ass back home and tell Sam how much you love him. He thinks he doesn’t have any sort of relationship with you. And then you better stay home this time, all right? I get you need space sometimes, but that’s why you have your own room. No more leaving. I’m so tired of everyone leaving… Dad, Bobby, you, Cas… Hell even Sam leaves when he gets really upset. And I bet Jack will too, eventually. He’ll leave and go all evil and even though this is one instance where I would love to be proven wrong I know I’m right. Nothing ever works out the way we want it to. There’s no point in trying anymore_  
> 

Dean’s vision is blurred and he can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or tears. Probably the alcohol. He doesn’t cry like this, crying’s for girls like Sam.  
He rubs his eyes and downs another double, his fourth, and instantly pours himself another. He’s got it half way to his lips when the bunker’s front door opens. He can hear Sam trying to explain to Jack what “Adidas” means and why it’s written on his new shoes. The conversation is so mundane, and it feels so unimportant compared to revelations Dean’s made in the last… hour? Maybe two? How long as he been doing this?

He stares at the amber liquid in his cup, watches the reflection of his own eyes disappear as he swirls the drink round and round… He’s trying desperately not to think about the words he wrote in his letter to Cas. There’s a reason he never said them out loud, a very good reason he might add. 

It’s not that Cas doesn’t deserve his love, or that he doesn’t deserve to hear those words. It’s more so that everyone Dean loves dies. All of them. Even Sam’s died more than his fair share. Hell, Dean was starting to consider Crowley a weird, frenemy type of thing and even he died. And for what? To save Dean’s ass. 

Cas’ words from many years ago enter Dean’s mind, “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” That’s when Dean finally downs the liquid in the cup. _No,_ he thought, _I don’t deserve to be saved. I never did._

“Dean?” 

The voice cut through his thoughts like a knife through a bungee cord, snapping him back to reality. He looked up to see Jack in the entrance to the library, decked out from head to toe in new clothes. Sam must have gone all out, Dean figured. Probably maxed another credit card. Everything Jack was wearing looked like it was brand new, they must have gone to the mall instead of the thrift store. 

It took him a second to remember he was supposed to speak. “Hey kid.” 

“You look terrible.” Jack stated, in that blunt fashion that reminded Dean far too much of Cas. 

“Thanks, I try.” Dean quipped, stashing his whiskey back behind 12C. He made a mental note to move it later, when Jack wasn’t around. 

“Sam went to make dinner.” Jack continued, “He said to tell you it’ll be ready in half an hour.” 

“Tell him I’m not hungry.”

Jack tilted his head, once again in a way far too similar to Cas. Dean pointedly turned his gaze away and refused to make eye contact. “Oh. All right.”  
Was it Dean’s imagination, or did Jack sound disappointed? 

“Sam let me pick the meal, I chose burgers and pie for dessert, because that’s what you like, right?” 

Damn that kid and his thoughtfulness. 

“I’ll have Sam put some in the fridge for you, so you can have it later.” Jack sounded awfully proud of his solution. Dean stubbornly refused to speak. The world was feeling a bit off kilter anyway, and he was pretty sure he needed to lie down before he passed out. 

Thirty consecutive seconds of silence informed Dean that Jack had retreated back to the kitchen, probably for a cooking lesson from Sam. Any other kid, and Dean might have cared that Sam was a terrible cook and would therefore be a terrible teacher, but he was past the point of giving a fuck right now. 

He somehow made it back to his bedroom, and the tiny white pieces of his letter stood out like a sore thumb in his otherwise dreary toned room. He made another mental note to burn those later, but for now he just wanted to lie down and forget. 

He flopped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to come fast and save him from his mind. He couldn’t even have that small mercy, it seemed. His brain was awake with so many questions, but his body was exhausted from too much alcohol. Was that what Mia had called catharsis, he wondered? When he ripped that paper up and threw that beer bottle at the wall… was that it? He certainly didn’t feel any better. The vics of their last case had described a feeling of clarity after their cathartic moments, and Dean felt nothing but pain. 

Maybe he should have taken Mia up on her offer, let her take the shape of his mother or of Cas. But he wouldn’t have been able to look them in the eye, he wouldn’t have been able to suspend his disbelief and let himself believe they were real. So she had suggested letters, and he had scoffed and said he didn’t need to say anything to them, that nothing he could say would even matter now. It was only when he was alone, drowning in his thoughts after Sam took Jack out for a shopping trip that he even considered trying it. Two beers later and he had been writing before he even understood what he was doing, and now look where it got him. 

There’s a reason Dean Winchester doesn’t do catharsis. 

He closed his eyes and demanded sleep. He was exhausted, damn it. Couldn’t he have just a few hours of nothingness? He prayed there wouldn’t be any nightmares tonight, and then remembered that no one would be listening to his prayers anymore. The only angel who ever did was gone, and with him Dean’s faith. 

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there before sleep took a hold of him, but he was sure he had imagined it when he felt the light press of fingers against his forehead just before he went under. 

Above him stood Castiel, and as he pulled a blanket over the sleeping man he whispered,

“I will always answer your prayers, Dean. Never doubt that.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
